The Twain Shall Meet
by PhantomInspector
Summary: AU. Cora despises and envies the royals, but she doesn't know what to make of the kind Lady Belle. Their bond becomes a tangled web when the Dark One intrudes on their lives. Rating may go up.
1. Chapter 1

I really hope I managed to write these guys together in a believable way. I just really hope for it. Also, if anyone has a better title to suggest, please do so.

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_"Oh, East is East, and West is West, and never the twain shall meet . . . _

_But there is neither East nor West, Border, nor Breed, nor Birth, _

_When two strong men stand face to face, tho' they come from the ends of the earth.__" _

_- _Rudyard Kipling

The town center was even more crowded than usual today thanks to the ball King Xavier was throwing tonight for his prestigious guests. Cora, the miller's daughter, grunted at every maneuver she made with the heavy flour cart.

With her thick layered clothes and forceful efforts with the vehicle, she was certain most people would mistake her for a man. The thought annoyed her, which gave her more energy to push the cart over the cobblestones. She would have happily traded her coarse shirts and musty cloak for a fine gown. They wouldn't, however, help her sell her wares and stave off hunger for yet another day.

Silent curses buzzed in her head and mouth like an enraged swarm. Everyone seemed determined to get underfoot of her. Children ran in front without looking where they were going. Elders trudging along on feeble legs slowed her progress. At last she reached the castle and was allowed through the gate to deliver the hefty bags for her royal customers. The king, of course, never met her in person; it was always a servant who paid for and accepted the flour that probably went to the castle kitchen and never met Xavier's eye. Cora rarely gave the presence of this lowly middle man much thought. It was simply the way things operated. But now and then she was deeply tempted to glance up at the turrets and spanning windows of the edifice and wonder what the inside looked like. Probably draped in silk tapestries and laid with soft carpets and shiny marble slates. Reeking of luxury and power. The miller's daughter spent too many nights dreaming of being immersed in the lovely stench of wealth. It far exceeded the stench of cow dung, saw dust, and her father's liquor-coated breath.

An empty spot along one of the courtyard's walls appeared before her. Cora gladly took it and set her cart down. Her arms throbbed from the weight, but they could still bear a few flour sacks so long as she also used her back for support. She squared her shoulders and bent her knees before slinging them over. Their mass pressed on her. Her legs kept steady nonetheless. She lumbered in the direction of the servant's entrance where the usual man, tall and hoary and no doubt tapping his foot with impatience, was likely waiting. Again, her progress was stymied by the bodies around her, most dressed in expensive garbs. The ladies' satin skirts peeked beneath velvet capes. Men showed off their fur-lined doublets as if they'd caught and skinned the animals they wore themselves. Cora did her best to ignore them, though her fingers itched to sample the texture of laces cuffs and diamond necklaces.

Try as she might, she could not help noticing a small bevy of royals walking toward her. One was a man in his forties, judging by the incoming grey sheen in his short dark hair. The others were younger–one man and two women about Cora's age. They were all quite attractive, particular the women.

The first woman she saw stood tall and haughty. Her black hair was wrapped in a high chignon to show off her lily-white face. Cool eyes stared out, beholding all without betraying a hint of emotion. The other woman was shorter, a little fuller in body, with wavy brown tresses falling around her shoulders. She looked around with a little more uncertainty, as if she were seeing the courtyard for the first time.

To Cora's surprise and embarrassment, the brunette's eyes met hers. She immediately dropped her gaze, more out of shyness than haughtiness, but peered up again right after. Cora snorted and looked away. She could still feel the girl's bright eyes on her. Curious about the peasant folk, no doubt, without feeling any genuine concern for their poverty. The miller's daughter hurried her steps. She would not be made a spectacle for some princess' amusement.

It didn't occur to her until too late just how closely Cora was walking by the royals. She brushed by the taller woman and despaired at not being able to feel the fabric thanks to her occupied hands. But she was ready to put the incident out of mind until something snagged her toes. Her feet were too slow to stop her and her flour from tumbling forward.

Her right knee knocked into the cobblestones. Her hands otherwise broke her fall and suffered only a few shallow scrapes. It was the sight of the spilled sacks and the realization that she'd been tripped that brought Cora's blood to a boil. "You stupid girl!" she shouted before she could stop herself. Her neck burned as her own words sunk in. She brushed her fear away. It didn't matter if they were royals and she was beneath them in status – she'd been publicly embarrassed and deserved an apology. Injured righteousness pounded in her head until a hand gingerly grasped her elbow.

"Are you all right?" asked a kind, deep, feminine voice.

Cora's heart paused. Had the rude royal come to her senses so quickly? She looked up. She sank from disappointment. It wasn't the raven-haired woman, but the petite one who'd stared at her. The crease between her slender eyebrows and the concerned frown made her look older.

"I'm fine," Cora grumbled. She half-heartedly shook away the girl's hand while pushing herself to her feet.

"Why are you helping her?" another woman's voice demanded. Cora needed only one guess to know whose it was. "That peasant tried to trip me!"

"I think you're mistaken, your highness," said the smaller woman before Cora could speak. "It was an accident."

An accident, indeed. Cora stepped away from the girl. She didn't need her help. Her faith in that notion lasted until the older man spoke. "Yes, an accident that she fell. Not that she showed such disrespect to royalty."

"It was she who tripped me!" said Cora, nodding toward the cold-eyed princess.

"How dare you!" The older man stalked forward. Only now did Cora recognize the royal crest–an enormous tree overlaid with a dagger–hanging over his chest. She was being berated by King Xavier himself. "This is Princess Eva. Our esteemed guest from the northern kingdom. How dare you spew falsities at her!"

"Your majesty," piped up the brunette, "this is just a misunderstanding."

"I'm sure it is," the young man chimed in, hidden behind the king. He spoke over the monarch's shoulder. "Father—"

"I will make no remark upon your misplaced sympathy, Lady Belle," said the king to the brunette. "But you, Henry, I _can_ remark on. And you'd do well to show Princess Eva the courtesy and respect she deserves!"

Princess Eva smiled her triumphant icy smile. Regardless the support she had somehow earned from Lady Belle and Prince Henry (a royal and a noble as her advocates - she never thought she'd see the day), Cora wanted to flee. But her stubbornness decided to take charge of her tongue. "I wonder just how much she does deserve when she trips peasants for her own amusement."

Lady Belle winced. A part of Cora wanted to cringe, too. But only a small part.

"What is your name, miller's daughter?" growled the king.

She balled her hands and looked him dead in the eye. "Cora."

"Well, Cora, believe me when I say I could have your head for this." The king sounded as though he could unleash a thunderstorm. "Consider this a mercy. Kneel and apologize to Princess Eva, or I will no longer buy flour from your family."

Lady Belle opened her mouth. She slowly shut it when Eva and King Xavier fired burning glares at her. Prince Henry simply looked on in unhelpful distress. As much as her soul screamed and cursed at this injustice, Cora acquiesced. What choice did she have? She dropped to both knees (the right one still ringing with pain) and declared her deadpan apology to the princess. Her mind was already working on how she could get back at them – all of them. This incident reached a new level of mortification, but Cora had long suffered the arrogance of the royals. She more despised how they viewed her: a worthless miller's daughter. Someone they could push around on a whim without fear of reprisal. She would show them their faulty mentality.

Cora continued to glower as the king and the foreign princess turned away satisfied. The prince was forced to follow suit by his father's formidable hand. Cora failed to notice that the remaining member of the group lingered behind until Lady Belle stepped in front of her.

"I'm . . . I'm so sorry about that," she said.

"I don't need your pity," said Cora.

"It's not about pity. It's about fairness. You did nothing wrong, I know it. Eva is . . ." Lady Belle raised her shoulders underneath her warm green cloak. "She's not a bad person. But her sense of humor can be cruel."

Cora smirked. "So can mine." She checked her hands. The scraped skin started to redden. After a quick wipe with her homespun cloak, she bent to pick up the rent sacks. Two of the bags lost quite a bit of flour. The third not so much, so she tied a knot where the hole was and hauled it onto her shoulder.

"Do you need help with that?"

The miller's daughter whirled on the sweet-faced noblewoman. "No. Leave me alone. I don't need your charity."

Lady Belle's gaze and voice never faltered. "How much is each sack worth?"

She could see where this was headed, and Cora for the life of her felt the gumption to resist it seep away. "What is it to you?"

"Please tell me."

The sack was getting heavier, even though it technically should have felt lighter. Cora sighed through her nose. "Ten coppers."

"That's it?" Belle scrunched her eyebrows again while her hand went for the purse inside her cape. A moment later two silvers appeared, glinting in the sunlight. "Here. You shouldn't lose a day's profit over something that wasn't your fault."

"I told you," Cora uttered through her teeth, "I don't want charity."

"I'm buying two sacks of flour. It's the same price the millers back home charge."

"It's still charity. You can't use it, so you get nothing out of it."

Belle smiled as if she wanted to laugh. "Take it, or I'm going to buy all three sacks!"

Cora couldn't help it. It was a challenge, and she never backed down from a challenge. She dropped the sack. "Please do so! At least you'll have something to lug home with you."

The lady laughed and shook her head. "Won't the king be annoyed he won't have his flour today?"

"I wish. We're not the only poor millers trying to get by in this kingdom."

"Fine." Belle withdrew another silver. Cora reached out and watched in awed reverence as the coins dropped into her hand. Three silvers was barely a drop compared to the royal treasury, but it was more than she'd ever earned in a single day. She liked how they sounded falling into her palm and clinking against each other. They were sprinkles of water to one dying of thirst.

Nothing could distract Cora from admiring the coins and dreaming about what this meant. She and her lazy father could have a proper meal today. Not just aging bread and vegetables from their garden, but a small cut of mutton. Or maybe some cheese. Her fantasies started to weave into an elaborate mosaic of dishes served at the king's table. Movement in the corner of her eye brought her out of them.

"What are you doing?" she asked when she saw Lady Belle taking her one good sack. The noblewoman was much too small and fragile for the burden. "Don't you have servants to do that?"

"I sent my manservant on an errand to the market," Belle said. She grunted and smiled, adjusting the sack on her back. "It's all right. I've got it."

"You're going to drop it." Cora took the bag back. "I won't let you be all self-righteous on my account."

Sighing, the lady relented. She straightened and stretched her spine so it make a crisp _crack_. "If you insist. We'll take it to the castle's pantry. I'll see if they'd be willing to store it for me."

Cora hefted the sack and followed the path she'd intended to take anyway, except with Belle's status she was allowed to enter the hall where servants in color-coded uniforms bustled about, arms full and brows dripping. Belle led the way with the two ruined sacks folded in her hands. Thanks to her gentle manners she was soon directed to the head of the kitchen staff. She asked the old lady permission to keep the flour here until she returned home. After tossing a puzzled look at Cora, then another at the noblewoman, the cook agreed.

"Thank you. But please, feel free to use the flour if you should happen to run out," Belle added. Cora would have loved to object, except that it wasn't her flour anymore. And, really, there would have been no point. She still loathed the king for his behavior. She'd started enjoying the idea of leaving his supply dry without her usual contribution. Had Belle not bullied her way into helping, though, she would have needed to sell her one sack to the kitchen staff after all.

"Thank you for your help," said Belle after they escaped the stuffy kitchen fumes. Cora had retrieved her cart and they both reached the castle gate. Belle returned the empty sacks, dropping them in the cart.

"Shouldn't I be the one thanking you?" said Cora.

"Well, yes." Belle pursued her lips in a teasing smile.

Cora rolled her eyes. "_Thank you_. How can I ever repay you?"

Her sarcasm earned an echoing eye-roll from the noblewoman. "Getting a taste of bread made from another kingdom's flour will be enough."

"Flour is flour, milady. It's not that different from . . . wherever you're from."

"The Marshlands. To the west. And it depends on the grain, which is not the same everywhere. The soil and climate play an important role in how the food made from it tastes."

Cora angled her head. "How do you know that?"

Belle bit her lip. "I read more than is good for me. So say most of the men in my father's court."

"Funny," said Cora, raising her eyebrows. "I thought nobles and royals didn't bother reading anymore."

"Oh, we do," countered Belle. "If only to make sure none of our books go missing on account of some _uppity_ peasants or servants."

Cora laughed and mentally shook Belle's hand. "I wouldn't hesitate stealing a few for myself if I had the time or energy."

Up above a bell rang, marking the hour.

"I should head back home." Cora picked up the handles. "Have fun at the ball tonight. That is, if you're planning to go instead of hiding away in a dusty library."

"A dusty old library all to myself?" Belle giggled. "It's tempting, but I guess I will go to satisfy the king. He's throwing it for his son, and he insists every eligible maiden among his guests be in attendance." Her smile wavered. She nipped her lip again. "I don't suppose you'd like to . . ."

"I doubt the king considers miller's daughters as 'eligible maidens'," said Cora.

Belle nodded. "It's a shame."

She seemed genuine enough, but Cora still wondered just how sorry Lady Belle was that their acquaintance had, in short, come to an end. Well, it didn't matter. There were chores waiting for her. And a napping father to rouse and prod into helping her clean the mill, which would involve moving crates and stone slabs too heavy even for her to handle alone. Giving a final nod to Belle, Cora rolled her cart out of the gate.

"Cora!"

Tension snaked into her shoulders. She looked back at Belle. The girl was the vision of all the good and beautiful things a noblewoman–and a woman for that matter–were expected to be. Cora secretly hated her for it, and for her rose-pink dress offset by the pale green cape. She could see in the curves and color of her healthy face the cushy life she led. The girl could afford happiness and respect. Yes, Cora hated it all, yet Belle's small, mischievous smile and warm eyes made it impossible to hate all of _her._

"In case you were wondering, it's a masked ball."

Cora blinked slowly. She'd been giving the idea of attending the ball a good deal of thought already. Now she smiled knowingly. "I'll keep that in mind."

Lady Belle of the Marshlands beamed, waved, then picked up her skirts to run into the belly of the castle. Cora let her eyes follow her for a moment before she shoved the cart on with renewed gusto. This second wind helped her hurry home and drove her like a work horse through her chores. She did it all happily. She didn't even berate her father as much as she wanted. Tonight was the masked ball at the king's castle, and she could hardly wait.


	2. Chapter 2

Oh my goodness. Why oh why did this take so long? Oh, right, it's more than twice as long as the last chapter. Thank you, my lovely first reviewers, for giving this weird story a try. Hope you enjoy!

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King Xavier's kingdom was in trouble. So was Lady Belle's duchy, for a different reason. As irony would have it, Xavier's problem had the chance of being Belle's solution.

A three-year drought had left Xavier's lands impoverished, and his people short on food, textiles and coin. Even the nobles felt the effects of economic desperation. They used their fears to justify sucking up every remaining ounce of wealth like greedy mosquitoes. They hardly spared a moment's concern for the peasants who, let's face it, were used to being poor. So the nobles argued. The king had taken what measures he deemed possible to replenish the treasury, such as increasing the labor force of miners to unearth ores of precious metals that may still have been hiding deep in the earth. But more workers meant rationing smaller wages, which meant the men became disgruntled, and then outraged, when they found they were paid half for twice the work, and twice the injuries. Riots and strikes arose only to be harshly subdued by the soldiers Xavier sent out to deal with them.

This was the extent of Belle's knowledge of the situation. Talk on the topic had circulated through Avonlea's court and among her father's counselors and friends. At the same time Sir Maurice's mind was encumbered by reports of ogre attacks on the border of the duchies. Not his duchy, but the fiefdoms were united by law, not to mention proximity, and another Ogres War with one duchy meant war with all of them. And if the capital of Avonlea fell, it meant disaster not just for Belle's people, but for the other kingdoms eastward that the ogres would try to push into.

Sir Maurice did not want for wealth. He was shrewd when it came to finances, and trade within the duchies and with foreigners fostered a rich market. Many of the most talented craftsmen in the Realms came from the Marshlands, which made Maurice swell with pride and dismiss the jokes other knights and lords made about their fiefdom being built atop a cluster of swamps. No, wealth they had. It was the military that needed supplementation. Under normal circumstances—in a normal war with normal men fighting one another—they would not have been so desperate. Ogres were another story. It would take at least twice the manpower to withstand their vicious might. A single ogre could tear a man in two in one try. In the past soldiers relied on catapults to keep the monsters at bay, then charged on horseback when the enemy was in retreat. But ogres did not flee so easily. They were just as determined to overrun humanity as humanity was determined to defend itself.

King Xavier's royal pocketbook was sorely light; his armory and army barracks weren't. He could still relegate enough of the treasury to support the army and inspire loyalty among those who served. If they could be spared for a few months, Sir Maurice would pay the soldiers a fee as well as offer Xavier a pretty penny for help against the ogres. An offer that would hopefully be sweetened by coming out of Lady Belle's gentle lips.

Belle wished her father had come. Though she was of noble birth, she felt inadequate in the presence of royals and high-nobles who were visiting for the ball. Xavier had in fact invited her as one of many potential suitors for his younger son, Prince Henry. He didn't realize Belle was already promised to another. It was just as well, Belle thought as she returned to her chambers to rest and prepare for tonight's festivities. Whatever her feelings for the tall, handsome, bland Sir Gaston, a safe enough choice for a fiancé, she was quite grateful to leave alone the courtship game everyone else would be playing. It had been part of the reason she agreed to the marriage. Not that love didn't matter. Belle wished she could marry for love. But love became a tangled thing when one had to consider status and mutual material benefits. For her people, not for herself. Gaston had relations in the echelons of Avonlea's nobility, so an alliance promised continued peace and favor for the Marshlands. There was even a chance that, should a few choice people die, Belle would move up through those mysterious circles and hold a considerable position of power in the great capital.

She didn't much care about that. Her mother had impressed on her the importance of responsibility to those beneath her station, which superseded personal advancement. If she did ever enhance her status, she must use it to benefit those who had no power. This lesson came back to her now. Belle sat on her bed and picked up the book she'd been reading earlier (a merchant's traveling journal to lands throughout and beyond the Realms) but did not open it yet. A vision of the young woman she'd met a little while ago flashed through her mind. A miller's daughter, the king had called her. She'd seen her carry those three sacks of flour all by herself. Where was her father? Had she no other family to help her? The woman seemed accustomed to performing the task on her own (though not doing it while someone stuck their foot under her). Someone forced to become self-reliant because no one else was willing to help. Belle had to admire her strength. It was all the more upsetting to watch her subjected to a degrading situation.

The worst of it was Belle should have seen it coming, and should have acted sooner. She and Princess Eva had been speaking shortly before the incident. The princess, a couple years younger than Belle, had treated her a bit coolly when she first arrived, but started to warm up after Belle noticed that the princess' bracelet had slipped from her slim wrist and might have been lost otherwise. It was a lovely thing, a string of tiny rubies and pearls, all shaped into hearts. It was made all the more precious by its sentimental value. Eva's older sister gave it to her on her last birthday before her health, which had always been weak, failed her. She'd doted on her, as did her parents, but the loss of a sister and confidant left a void into which meaner feelings sometimes crept. But Eva showed demure gratitude for Belle's help and engaged her in conversation. It was during this exchange that they were met by King Xavier and Henry with an offer to show them around the grounds. It was intended more for Eva's benefit than hers. The king and queen of the northern kingdom were longtime friends of Xavier. One of them might possibly have been a distant relation, too. Belle couldn't say who or what the connection was. It sometimes disturbed her how easily a royal could identify a relation among the other royal houses in the Realms.

Before the invitation, Belle and Eva had arrived at the subject of their respective homes, and what they did with their time. Eva's delicate frame and fair complexion belied her enthusiasm for recreational exercise. She especially loved horses—their grace, their majesty, their strength. She'd also recently taken up archery and discovered she was a natural. Belle bowed her head humbly as she admitted that she was nowhere near as accomplished a sportsman. But she did enjoy outdoor walks. She and her mother used to visit the village center every week to inspect new wares passing through. Even the permanent businesses, like the bookstore and the millinery and the bakery, were a treat to see.

"Do you really interact with peasants on a regular basis?" asked Eva, her pitch rising in disbelief.

"Why not? I like the life that fills a marketplace. Everyone is so busy looking for the right thing to buy and arguing over prices. It's fun when travelers come through with fabrics and toys and art I've never seen before."

Eva wrinkled her small nose. "But it's . . . smelly and crowded. It's just peasants living their lives."

Belle tried to remain gracious. "But it's the peasants who make our lives possible. They make everything, or they grow it and process it."

A giggle bounded like a charging deer from Eva's mouth. "I'd die knowing a peasant made my clothes and cooked my food! It's the servants who do that!"

Heated thoughts broiled inside Belle. Peasants were no less human than servants and nobles and royals, she wanted to yell. Their lives were simply different. Harder in many ways. That didn't make them somehow unclean. Belle clasped her hands and pressed them against her abdomen to keep herself together. To sooth the dragon of her temper. "If the servants weren't employed at the castle, they would probably be working in the fields or in town as butchers and seamstresses."

"But they aren't. That's the point. They are qualified for more refined work. If you told one of my servants that there was no difference between them and peasants, they would be very insulted. As insulted as I would be if you said I was no different from a farmer's daughter."

Belle stared straight into Eva's eyes. She kept her features deadpan. Words were not needed. Eva answered with stiff blankness. The king and his son came just in time to sever the tension.

Eva had tripped that poor woman to prove a point. That was the only explanation Belle could ascribe to her behavior. All the princess had proved, however, was the unfair treatment of people based on class. Remembering the incident wound her up more than she realized, until she noticed she was squeezing her hand around her book and leaving sweat stains on the leather cover. She relaxed and saw the aggravated flush on her palm. Belle tried to shake off the thoughts like rainwater and return to her reading. When she did, an unusual thing happened: the words floated in white space and refused for form meaningful words. Her imagination returned to Eva, Cora, the king, her home, the other nobles she knew who probably shared Eva's opinions. Bubbling nausea compelled her to set the book down again and stare out the bedroom window. She could see the proud turrets of Xavier's castle and glimpse past them to the rolling farmlands and forests beyond. The fields were still recovering from the drought, recently ended by a storm. It had wreaked brittle grain stalks and snapped off tree branches that landed on roads, pastures and homes. At least the crops had soaked up the much-needed water, but it would still be a while before the kingdom was anywhere close to regaining its economic footing.

There were people out there now cleaning up the mess as best they could. Men in muddy tunics and cloaks worked together to hoist the bigger branches while women and children gathered the smaller ones, probably for kindling. Always trying to make the best of the situation. She didn't know why, but a teary flood hit her eyes. Belle groaned, embarrassed, and wiped them away. There was no need to cry. Everything would be all right. Somehow things would work out. They couldn't stay miserable forever as long as people had the means to act. As long as people with power—any power at all—could do something useful and good with it.

Belle wiled the next two hours watching people both outside and inside the castle walls. When the sun dropped low enough beneath the horizon and left the sky blushing with crimson against periwinkle purple, she dragged herself away. The chandelier hanging overhead had been lit while she was gone, so even as night descended she had light to see by. She opened her wardrobe. Among the dozen dresses she'd brought for her two-week visit, one stood out like a lantern in a bush. The shimmering gold silk kissed her palm as she curled her fingers around it. Belle took it out. Her maid Babette would be back at six to dress her, but she liked holding it. It had been her mother's dress, still looking new and radiant. She'd taken mindful care of it. She loved her mother, and missed her, and it was important to treasure the things she had left behind.

She didn't know until yesterday that the ball would be a masque, prompting her to send Philippe, her manservant, into town to find a mask to match her dress. Philippe had let a wince slip into his expression. He wore his emotions a little too candidly, but Belle liked that about him. She had chuckled and reassured him that he would do fine. She would have gone herself except that it seemed wise to become better acquainted with her neighbors in the guest wing, Eva being one of them. Now she was glad to have stayed at the castle for the chance to meet Cora. She was one of the few people with whom she had maintained a conversation. Other people dropped in a few pleasantries when meeting her by chance in the corridors or in the dining hall. Everyone seemed occupied with their own affairs and the prince's ball, making it difficult for Belle to crack the ice wall that seemed to keep potential friends out of reach. Was she so very awkward and insignificant in appearance? Or did she possess an innate knack for invisibility? Even if she had made other friends, Cora owned a spark that crackled in her voice and shined in her eyes, and that set her well above most of the people Belle had met in her whole life. She might have been foolish to invite the young woman to the masque. What if she didn't have a dress? To assume she did might have been taken as insult. If only Belle had thought of it earlier, she might have discovered where she and her father lived and offered to lend her a gown. By now she could only hope that Cora found the nerve to come back.

A somewhat selfish hope, Belle realized with a touch of shame paired with a touch of mischief.

Philippe returned to the chamber after Babette, who was now in the middle of changing Belle out of her pink walking dress. The rapid knocks startled Belle, but she quickly guessed who it was and urged Babette to answer.

"Please forgive me, milady," called Philippe from the cracked door, "but I forgot which color you said your gown was, so I bought a few masks just in case. I hope one matches!"

"You would do well to pay attention, Philippe!" chirped Babette, snatching his purchases out of his hand. "What shame you bring if you embarrass her ladyship with your carelessness!"

"You're very kind," said Belle, laughing, "but a mismatched mask will not bring down the kingdom. Thank you, Philippe."

After shutting the door in the manservant's undoubtedly blushing face, Babette returned and placed the assortment of masks on the bed. She then resumed freeing her mistress from the rosy pink skirt and bodice, and then the corset in exchange for one that better fit her off-the-shoulder ball gown.

"Oh, but these are lovely!" Belle looked them over. They all bore tiny jewel studs so that they sparkled under the chandelier's light. Philippe, bless him, had bought a gold-and-white mask with ends that fanned out like bird wings, only made of papier-mâché and satin instead of feathers. The other masks were pale blue, green-and-silver, pure white, and black with black and red accents, including feathers and a bow.

Belle was struck with an idea.

"Babette, when we're finished, I want you to take all these masks except the gold one and hide them near the entrance to the courtyard, where the ball will be. If anyone stops and questions you, tell them you are on an important errand for one of the visiting princesses and must not be delayed under any circumstances."

"May I ask for what purpose, milady?" Babette's voice sparkled like sweet wine, but it sometimes carried a saucy tang that could irk Belle. It made her fee like a child suffering a lecture.

"To spare embarrassment for anyone who forgets to bring a mask," she said simply.

Her instructions were obeyed without further remark except a wary "As you wish, milady," that said, "With all due respect, I worry about the trouble you put yourself in at other people's expense." She and anyone who knew Belle. The young noblewoman refused to fret. King Xavier might set aside some spare masks, anyway, and render her gesture unneeded. So long as Cora had a mask to wear when she came—if she came—it did not matter either way.

By the time Belle was dressed and on her way down, the corridors were filled with bodies wrapped in fine fabrics eager to mill down the grand staircases to the courtyard. Many people were already partnered off with escorts, and Belle felt a brief swell of loneliness. But she was excited, too. Courtship did not interest her, but the intrigue of wearing masks and the opportunity to dance and watch others dance thrilled her. The last time she attended a ball was her sixteenth birthday, which seemed so long ago now. Since then Belle had asked her father to not expend time and money on something that was better saved for rarer occasions. It made the mere anticipation of a ball all the more sweet and intoxicating.

The musicians had just begun to play the first quadrille as Belle descended the gray stone steps. Spring balls in roofless courtyards were an inspired idea, so long as the weather cooperated. Even if there had been black clouds swirling above, hardly anyone would've noticed. There was enough of a storm brewing on the dance floor. Colors and gems blended together in a twisting whirlpool. The musicians' strings and gentle brasses intoxicated the ear with an urge to grab a partner and join the synchronized throng. Arms rose up and down and bent like swan necks. Skirts and coattails fluttered as bodies turned with the music. Belle loved it best when the men picked up their partners by the waist and spun. She was caught up imagining that for herself that she almost missed a masked gentleman asking her to dance. When he finally had her attention after politely tapping her shoulder, she giggled loudly and blushed, then apologized. The young man was tall and dressed in silver. He gracefully accepted her apology while simultaneously extending his hand in invitation. Belle accepted. The prospect of dancing again—the elation and fear it inspired—distracted her from identifying her partner. Even the impulse to guess eluded her until after the dance ended, and after he, as breathless as she, had spun her and set her back down.

Laughing and gulping air, Belle leaned into him for balance and looked in his eyes. Their abrupt familiarity along with his hair, complexion and jawline slapped her like an ocean wave.

"Oh! Good evening, your highness," she said softly with a curtsy. "Forgive me. I didn't recognize you."

"Isn't that the point?" Prince Henry chuckled kindly. "Do not distress yourself, milady. Your not knowing has made this all the more enjoyable. I've, uh, had quite my share of painful flirtation already."

"I'm sorry to hear that," said Belle. "You're safe with me. I'm engaged."

"Ah! I hope he's not the envious sort. If he thinks I'm compromising your honor, I must tell you I'm a horrible duelist."

Belle laughed. "I wouldn't let him be so foolish if he were here. But I am on my own this evening."

Prince Henry took her hand and kissed it. "A pity. Thank you for the dance. I hope you enjoy the rest of the ball."

"You as well, your highness."

With that they parted. Belle did not envy him. Her sympathy ran deep, in fact, that he should be made something of a spectacle tonight. She knew the feeling back before her engagement. As the only daughter of the ruler of the Marshlands, she had been all but obligated to play the coquette with prospective suitors. Some had stood a fair chance of enchanting her. Intelligent, sensible men with good hearts. None she became enamored with, though. Probably for the best. Love could do mad things to people.

Another masked man, this time a duke she'd casually met the other day, identifiable thanks to his crisp blond mustache and precise, almost clockwork movements, requested her hand for the next pair of dances. Again she accepted. As they danced he unintentionally entertained her with his trilling compliments of her figure and her eyes, which must have been just as fair as her face.

"I am sorry to tell you it is not," Belle said, sighing. "It's an ugly thing." She could not resist toying with this philandering buffoon, whom she'd seen whispering and groping more than one lady before they were formally introduced. She worried for the women who might fall for his act.

"You tease me, milady!" He cheeped like a pleading chick. "If it is, allow me to test my mettle after this dance. Show me your face, and I shall declare it a very fair thing."

"Actually, it isn't half-bad," said Belle. "It wouldn't be bad at all except I had the small pox not too long ago, and it ravaged me terribly. I dared attend this ball only because everyone is wearing masks. For once I felt safe to dance and speak with fine men like you without being regarded as a sickening sight."

"You are terrible! Such a horrible lie to tell." He pulled her in. The uninvited closeness made Belle spasm. "I must see your face now. You have all but begged me to remove it."

"I've done no such thing, sir." Belle wriggled out of his grasp. The second dance was just beginning. She had had enough. "I'm afraid I am feeling ill again. You must excuse me."

The duke reached for her with a less practiced motion than he usually executed. "You are quite the impertinent thing. Have you any idea who I am?"

Belle dodged his grip with another step back, and bumped into someone behind her. She yelped and turned around. So did the man she walked into. It was Prince Henry again.

"Oh! Forgive me!" said the prince.

"No, no! It's my fault." Belle steadied her shaky breath and hoped the duke thought better of trying to pester her. She did not turn to acknowledge or watch him. "I should have minded where I was going."

"I was distracted myself," Henry said. At that moment his partner for the dance drew toward them. Belle held in a gasp when she saw the unknown woman wearing the black-and-red mask she'd sent off with Babette earlier.

"That's very kind of you, but I won't detain you any longer," the woman drawled in a memorable voice. The sleeveless red dress she wore was very fine, and her hair was neatly styled up, but the woman was the same. "You have _many_ partners to get through tonight."

"We've already danced," said Belle, stepping toward her. Glancing once at Prince Henry, then at her, a strange idea came to light. "But may I cut in?"

The woman shrugged. She expected Belle to take her place on Prince Henry's arm. Instead, grinning, Belle thanked the prince and took the woman's arm, pulling her into the middle of the dance floor. She'd never danced the man's part before. She bashfully curtsied and followed the men while still matching the women's flourishes. Her partner balked for a second, then fell into step without a word.

"This wasn't exactly how I thought we'd see each other again," said Belle. She paid close attention to their feet and arms, quickly learning the dance in opposition. "But I'm glad you came."

The woman narrowed her eyes. "I don't understand."

"I know it's you, Cora."

She sucked in a breath. She didn't need to say so for Belle to understand that Cora recognized her. She didn't say anything for a while until Belle summoned the nerve to take her gloved hand and twirl her around. "What will you do now?"

"What do you mean?" asked Belle guilelessly.

Cora's voice grew harsher. "What are you planning? Didn't you 'invite' me to this gaudy parade to humiliate me in front of everyone? Is that your game? Or is this that little princess' idea?"

As they turned in a circle with everyone else, Belle leaned in toward Cora's ear. One of the black mask's drooping feathers brushed the skin just below Belle's hairline—a pleasant tickle. Her own comfort at their proximity surprised her. "If you really thought I wanted to do something so heartless, you wouldn't have come at all."

Cora threw a laugh back into Belle's ear. "Maybe I was planning to come anyway. Maybe I wanted to one-up the king after the way he treated me."

Belle waited to answer after they pivoted to circle the opposite way. "In order to one-up the king, I assume you have to keep your identity a secret."

Pulling back, Cora set her red lips in a flat line. "I guess I should have realized you'd recognize me."

"Yes, if you really thought you couldn't trust me." Belle indulged in a victorious grin. Then she dropped it. "Don't get yourself in trouble."

"Are you planning to rescue me again if I do?" Cora archly asked.

Belle chuckled. "I always liked the idea of being the knight-errant for once."

Cora squinted again in a way that prompted a slight blush in Belle's face. She knew that squint too well. Many people, especially men, sent one her way when she blurted something out of turn.

"You're a strange one, aren't you?"

The noblewoman culled her instinct to verbally strike back. With demure restraint she said, "I'd rather be strange than reckless."

Red-painted lips, the same shade as the dress she wore, bloomed into a smile. Both women let their silence speak for itself. Glances were enough to voice their enjoyment of each other's company, and their amusement at the puzzled expressions around them. Confusion was for the most part partnered with disapproval, although there were a few intrigued looks among the men. It was all unnecessary. There was nothing indecent about the dance, or that two women were dancing together. Except maybe the part where the men had to place their hands on the women's waists, and Cora, deciding she enjoyed the touch of scandal they were arousing, disobeyed convention and dropped her hand from Belle's shoulder to her waist, too, interlocking them in a more intimate embrace. Belle fought to keep her giggles quiet.

The dance reached its end with the two women curtsying to each other. Belle didn't think she could manage a gentleman's bow in her dress. Too much covering her legs and not enough covering her chest. They both looked up and shared another laugh.

"What is the meaning of this?"

Belle, tensing, met King Xavier's snarling gaze through the peepholes of his small black-and-gold mask. Undoubtedly chosen so people _would_ recognize him.

"Your majesty." Belle curtsied like she was a wind-up toy with no other purpose. She glimpsed back. Cora retreated a step but did not lower her head or gaze in humility. She silently begged Cora to remember and take her warning words to heart.

The scolding she expected to fall on her did not come. The king strode past right to Cora. "Do you think I don't know who you are?" Belle straightened in time to see Xavier snatching something off her friend's skirt. A strand of straw, white gold in the courtyard's lights. A knot tied inside Belle's throat. She should have noticed that!

"You are bent on testing me, it seems," said the king. "First you insult my guest, then you show your face here, pretending to be of noble standing, and make a scene with your crude wiles."

"I'm not exactly showing my _face_, am I?" Cora raised her chin. "And I was asked to dance."

"I'm sure you were," said Xavier, "after using your forked tongue to—"

"Your majesty." Belle swept around the king and stepped between him and the miller's daughter. "I invited her. She is a friend of mine."

"A friend?" The king leaned forward. His anger acquired a streak of concern. "Lady Belle, you must mind the company you keep. A miller's daughter, and one so blatantly insolent—"

"I am much more than a miller's daughter," declared Cora.

"I beg to differ. You are no one!"

"With all due respect, your majesty . . ." Belle's soft voice belied the anger trembling in her stomach. "She is not no one. I told you who she is. And, as I said, I invited her."

King Xavier, coloring a bit, nonetheless held his temper. "You had no right to invite her. I mean no insult to the customs of your land, but in my kingdom everyone has their place, including those who would like to believe otherwise. The lines of status must be respected."

Out of the corner of her eye, Belle saw Cora minutely writhe under the lash of the king's words. She seemed bent on saying something—anything—to knock him down a peg. On instinct, Belle cut her off. "You are right, your majesty. But tonight is a night of blurring those lines, isn't it? We're wearing masks to hide who we are." Some were, at least. "To strip ourselves of prejudice. Grant us this one night, your grace. I will make it worth your while."

Although she couldn't see it, she knew Xavier was lifting an eyebrow. "How so?"

It was Belle's turn to approach him, though not out of intimidation. Not mostly. She lowered her voice so no one else would hear. "I did not come to your kingdom to wed your son. I am promised to another. But I have a way to help you with your financial difficulties. My father's duchy is endowed with riches that he will give you for something in return."

Xavier's eyes opened like he'd been roused from a nightmare and saw it was just a dream. Shock, relief, disbelief raced across his partially hidden face. When he regained a handle on his surprise, he touched Belle's elbow. "We shall discuss this tomorrow. If what you say is true—"

"It is, your majesty," said Belle, calmly sincere.

"Very well. Then, for tonight, you and your friend may enjoy yourselves. Within reason."

She smiled and curtsied once more. With a quiet snort the king marched away and was swallowed by swarm of his guests.

Thank the gods that actually worked. Belle staved off relief, though, until she had Cora by the crook of her arm and away from the center of the crowd and the dancing. She noticed even after they reached a safe and quiet little alcove in a corner that Cora, head still level and lips proudly, tightly shut, was shivering. It was a warm night.

"Why do I have a feeling you were about to say something unbelievably foolish?" asked Belle as soon as they both sat on the stone sill in the alcove.

"I don't know what you're talking about."

Belle shook her head. "What _were_ you going to say?"

Her companion shrugged one shoulder. "I don't remember. Does it matter?"

It didn't, and Belle happily let the matter drop. There were too many things to talk about to waste time on trifles. "I'm glad one of my masks matched your dress."

Cora's hand touched her mask, beyond her control. She forced it down. "I didn't realize it was yours. You left those there? For me?"

"For anyone who needed one." Belle tried to smile away her embarrassment on realizing how presumptuous her gesture had been. She wasn't sorry for it, though. Cora got inside and managed to enjoy herself for a moment.

"You do know you were dancing with the prince, right?" said Belle.

"Of course I do. Poor sop. Being whored by his father just so he'll marry some air-headed royal." She peeked at Belle and cleared her throat. "Present company excluded."

"Oh, good." Chuckling, Belle folded her hands in her lap. For once in her life, she was grateful that her awkward stance robbed her of the daintiness expected of princesses and noblewomen. She certainly didn't feel dainty next to Princess Eva and her stock.

"What did you tell the king?" asked Cora. "Never saw a man of his station so eager to run away before. Did you cast a spell on him?"

Rolling her eyes, Belle said, "Not in the slightest. I told him I knew that his kingdom needs money. And that I can help."

Cora straightened to attention and shifted to face Belle more directly. "You can? How?"

"My father has wealth to give, if Xavier is willing to help us in turn."

"What would he have to do?"

Belle hesitated. She imagined her father back home, in the council room with Gaston and the other low-knights of his duchy. Watching the sky turn orange, and then red, with the fires the ogres lit in their wake as they came closer and closer to the border. She thought of the loyal but insubstantial armies from the different duchies preparing themselves for the war that would come and cost most of them their lives. It was not an easy thing to think on, let alone talk about. But Cora waited, and her inquiring gaze and now relaxed figure helped Belle raise the portcullises around her fears. She let the details trickle out like a stream beginning to break free of winter's ice.

"Have you head anything of the previous Ogre Wars?" she asked after telling nearly all there was to tell.

"Just a little," said Cora. "I don't know of anyone who fought in the last one."

"I've read a lot on them because of this. Well, I read a lot, anyway, but you know what I mean." Belle bit her lip.

Cora's eyes drifted down in thought. Seeing her mull over this soon-to-be tragedy lent Belle some courage.

"I guess there's no quick solution, is there?" Cora said more than asked.

Belle's breath hitched. Her friend was treading on a topic the noblewoman had not dared breathe a word about except to her father, who understandably recoiled at the idea. It was by no means a quick solution. That didn't mean they could afford to dismiss it yet.

"There is one other option," she said so quietly Cora had to scoot closer to hear. "I've read that conflicts with ogres always end in rampant bloodshed. Both sides suffer many causalities before any resolution is reached. Except once."

Cora tilted her head. Her dark eyes shimmered. Though her voice was even and soft, breathiness gave away her rapt interest. "When?"

Belle swallowed. "The First Ogres war, about three hundred years ago. They ended when a sorcerer called the Dark One intervened. All he had to do was step on the battlefield and raise his hands. That was it. The ogres were gone. The soldiers went home. No more trouble from the ogres for another hundred years."

"There was a sorcerer who could stop ogres just like that?" Cora was equally incredulous and in awe. "Is he still alive?"

"They say he's immortal. That he still comes and goes making deals with people, though they almost always go wrong. I tried to find a way to summon him, but different books say different things. None of them seem to work, anyway."

"If you could," Cora said slowly, "what do you have to offer?"

"I don't know." Belle rolled her head back, letting it knock against the stone wall. The shot of pain helped muted her rising anxiety. "A man like that is probably not interested in riches like gold or jewels. The old tomes indicate he asks for whatever the individual making the deal values the most. But sometimes his price seems very small, which is where people fall into the trap of taking the deal."

"But if you could make a deal with him," said Cora, "you wouldn't need the king's help. No one would have to fight and die."

"Right."

"But the price might be just as high."

Belle let out a breathless laugh. She spread her hands. "Doesn't look good for us either way. But—if only one person had to pay the price to save everyone else, that _has_ to be better."

Cora honed her gaze on Belle. She still seemed suspicious of her. Like she was expecting Belle to say and do something very typical of the royals. Something Belle hoped she did not have in her to say or do. "Who would pay the price?"

Looking at her lap, Belle watched her hands clutch the golden silk. She tried to be gentle with her mother's dress, but the nauseous fear filling her chest begged her hands to find some external release. Her eyes closed. She dragged in a breath. "I would."

She waited a few moments, not moving. Then she checked Cora's face. The mask made it hard to read it, of course, and Cora had a gift for shuttering her expressions when she had a mind to. It was like trying to look at someone through two masks.

"You think you would?" Cora asked at last.

Belle took her question seriously. "I think so."

"You don't even know what the price would be. What if it was your life? Or what if you had to become some lowborn that people walk over in the streets?"

That possibility had cross her mind. Belle scraped her nails against her dress. Her body grew taut. "If that were the price, and if I were sure everyone else would be safe, then I'd try to be brave."

Cora scoffed. "You really do want to be some model of chivalry." She moved another inch close to Belle so that the noblewoman had nowhere else to look. "You trust your books too much. Bravery won't do you any good in real life. Be brave all you like, but it won't make people respect you. They'll find excuses to kick you down."

"I know people can be cruel," said Belle. Her voice felt small. "That's why I want to do the right thing. People can be horrible, but they can do wonderful things, too. I'd rather help others believe in the latter."

"You can afford to be idealistic. You're a noble." Although she pulled back a little, Cora was still arched forward, tense like a waiting python. Belle shivered as the woman's tone narrowed to a knife's point. "Spend a day in my life and you'll understand how useless your thinking is. What about today? Didn't that princess prove it doesn't matter how good you are, but how much power you have?"

Belle shot forward. "She was wrong to do that! You shouldn't accept that idea just because some people with power abuse it!"

Cora smirked bitterly. "What's the alternative?"

In that moment no answer came. Belle opened her mouth in case one decided to drop in, but she just uttered short guttural sounds before sheepishly shutting up.

"Exactly," said Cora, definite and a little melancholy. "In the end, power is everything."

Belle wanted to object very badly. Then she remembered who she was speaking to: a miller's daughter who carried bags of flour to market alone, unaided, and was tripped for no good reason in the process. Had Belle not bought the flour, that would have been a few days' work, and a week's worth of food and warmth, lost. It should not have been that way. It was, though, in this kingdom. In other kingdoms, too. And in her own homeland. She was not blind to the poverty right outside her door. Nor was she ignorant that nothing except drastic measures no noble wanted to take was enough to erase it.

They were quiet again. The silence stuck invisible pins in Belle's skin. They hurt, but in a tickling way like the feathers of Cora's mask. She rubbed her arms for comfort.

After some time Cora gave a more sympathetic glance. "I hope the king can help."

Belle smiled a little. "Thank you."

A tower bell rang. They looked up to the turrets standing against the indigo sky. One had a large bell to sound the hour. Twelve knocks of the mallet were followed by whoops from the revelers, who raised their fists and flagons. Masks were torn away and thrown into the air. Men and women who happened to be coupled together at the moment kissed in half-drunk abandon.

Taking their cue, Belle and Cora took off their masks as well. "Where did you get your dress?" Belle asked.

A nervous smile danced across Cora's mouth. "Can't believe I would own something like this?"

"Oh! No, that's not what I meant."

"Yes, it was." The smile that formed around the merciless retort put Belle only a little at ease. "You're right. I borrowed it. From a merchant." Some pink imbued Cora's face. She stood and straightened her lovely dress that wasn't actually hers. "Speaking of which, I should go and return it to him."

Belle furrowed her brow. "Now?"

"Before he notices it's missing."

A jaw drop, and then laughter. An astounded guffaw that Belle felt deep in her chest. She imagined how indelicate it must have sounded. They laughed together while everyone else cheered and applauded the royal hosts. The two women could not have cared less about the ball in that moment.

"You'd better go, then." Belle stood, too. Out of habit she pressed her fingers to the chain around her neck with the little pearl pendant. It jumped about whenever she stood or moved too quickly. In the same second she saw that Cora wasn't wearing any jewelry. It was a relief that she hadn't taken the daring escapade of finding a dress for the ball a step too far. But the truth behind that fact attacked Belle with piercing guilt and compassion. She let a finger pad rest against the last gift her mother gave her.

"Wait. Before you go." She set down her mask on her seat, then unhooked the chain's clasp behind her neck. Cora widened her eyes and scowled. Belle would not brook refusal out of pride. She captured her friend's hand before she could slip away and dropped the glittering gold into the palm of her black glove.

"You can't give me this." The miller's daughter had a cutting voice that would have intimidated many a lord.

"Yes, I can. It's a gift from a friend, and you may do anything you wish with it." If it meant helping Cora and her father live a better life, or letting her have something to wear to another ball in the future (it would not be her last, despite the king's threats), Belle could live with giving up this little treasure. Her mother would have approved.

Although the chain lay cradled in her hand, Cora did not close her fingers around it. She stared darkly at Belle. "You wouldn't give this to me if I was the same status as you."

"That only means you can put it to better use." Belle kept her arms to her sides and her head raised.

"I don't need a handout." Cora thrust the gift back toward her.

After a still second, Belle took the necklace back. Then she stepped behind Cora and looped the chain around her throat. Cora stiffened. Belle's fingers grazed the nape of the woman's neck while hooking the chain together again. Her skin was just as soft and fair as Belle's, even if a little tanned from laboring outdoors. The bright metal suited her very well—as well as any lady.

She could hear angry inhales and exhales gradually subside. With satisfaction she watched Cora accustom herself to the cool, smooth texture of the gold and pearl against her chest, and touched it with her covered fingers. Though she felt a little naked without the pendant, Belle beamed at her handiwork.

"Gold looks well on you," she said after examining Cora from the front.

The grimacing woman did not look Belle in the eye. She stared either at the necklace or at the ground.

"Thank you," she whispered.

Her reluctant, and likely bewildered, gratitude made Belle happier than she anticipated. Looping her arm through Cora's like before, she led them away from the courtyard to the entrance, always smiling.

She considered fetching Philippe to escort Cora home. Cora must have read the intention in her face, or feared more kindness, and brusquely greeted her goodnight. Belle watched her hurry down the now dark road to the village. There were enough torch posts to illuminate the path near the castle. From there, though, who but Cora could say how well lit and safe her trek home would be? So the noblewoman watched like a fretting mother until Cora was no bigger than a crimson rose petal drifting down the road, which snaked between some low buildings and carried her out of sight.

Ideas were descending on Belle like raindrops tonight. While aatching her friend vanish into the village center, one big one dropped right on her head and made her jolt in excitement. She _would_ send Philippe into the village tomorrow on an errand. Two errands, actually. But this time Belle would not stay cooped up in the castle, in the entombing walls of her lovely guest chamber. The plan that began sketching itself in her head sent her bounding lightly back into the courtyard. Just another dance to burn off this ebullient energy, and she'd retire and continue her preparations for tomorrow. King Xavier would be dealt with, too, of course. But he could wait a little while.


	3. Chapter 3

I didn't think this would be such a long chapter. It also went to places I didn't expect it to. I will try to continue this with some frequency. Now, onto updating another neglected fic! But I hope you enjoy this.

* * *

The goings-on at the castle began to regain normalcy, although much flutter and fuss continued among the departing guests. Not everyone was leaving, but enough of them created confusion. It provided the perfect cover under which Belle could slip away in the simple outfit Philippe bought for her.

Little did she realize that a pair of eyes chanced to catch her exit. They belonged to Princess Eva. The sight raised alarm in light of the unsettling little show she'd witnessed last night, put on by the Marshland noble and the peasant woman. It had shocked Eva that she hadn't recognized Cora right away, even if peasants did look alike after a while. It disturbed her more that one had succeeded in posing as a guest and ingratiating herself among the royal ranks. She even danced with Prince Henry! It wasn't that Eva was infatuated with Henry, although an alliance between their kingdoms would bring obvious advantages; it was the principle of the matter. A peasant had dared to engage with a royal, and only the king had seen through her facade. Or so Eva believed until she saw Belle intervene, just as she had when Cora fell.

No, that's right. Eva had tripped her. She grinned at how much she had invested in her own lie.

Belle's cloaked form left the courtyard with a basket on her arm. Eva had a view from her guestroom window that let her recognize the girl from the green brocaded cape. She saw the blue peasant-style dress, too, and while that might have made her invisible to most, to Eva it was a smack to the face. What was she up to? Did her inexplicable fascination with the common folk often compel her to dress like that and sneak off? Did it have to do with the miller's daughter? The women had remained together after King Xavier's shrewd interference. It brought on a slew of questions that distracted Eva from enjoying the ball. She eventually put it out of mind and did not seek out Belle either during or after the festivities. It should not have mattered. What was one noblewoman's indiscretion, anyway?

It didn't make sense that the confusion and anger she experienced returned as strongly as it did. Eva wanted to pronounce Belle a fool and let it be. But she couldn't. She experienced a temptation similar to what prompted her to trip Cora. People needed to understand their place. The miller's daughter shouldn't be rewarded for her insolence with a noble's friendship. Belle was doing no one a favor. As the morning aged, the little imp in Eva's soul squirmed with pent-up frustration. Something had to be done - a harmless prank to discourage anyone from pretending that peasants deserved the same respect as nobles or royals. A memory from last night inspired her with an idea. After breakfast she tracked down a few friends to propose an entertaining endeavor.

* * *

She was simply touring the town, Belle reminded herself when she entered the market square. In spite of her hopes for more than an increased familiarity with the kingdom's people and landscape, it was better to exercise restraint. After all, one dance with someone didn't mean they wanted to be called on at their house in daylight, especially with this social chasm between them. Belle didn't pay mind to that barrier, but she could see Cora's annoyed expression when she first received (but didn't accept) the necklace. She had pride, and Belle would respect it.

There was still plenty to see in the town. It was more developed than her village. Signs of the recent storm and the handicapped economy marred its appearance, though. Several thatched roofs had partly collapsed. Shingled roofs lost tiles, too. People perched atop their homes and shops, hammering down tarred wood or laying fresh straw and mud. Some tradesmen had opened their booths for business, like the baker, the butcher, farmers selling their vegetables and herbs, and tailors. There was a tavern, too, which in the midst of so much damage and depression was doing well. No surprise. Many other establishments looked abandoned, boarded up and falling apart. They reminded Belle of empty, decaying walnut shells. The roads were a squelchy mess just starting to dry up. Lingering puddles threatened unwary feet, and more than one wagon caught a wheel in the gutter or a small hidden sinkhole. This once prosperous hamlet had almost come undone. It hurt Belle's heart to see it. At least Xavier's people and hers would benefit from their yet-to-be-discussed deal.

The baker's stall piqued her interest. Maintaining casualness, she greeted the mutton-chop man good morning. She surveyed what he had to offer and decided on two loaves of wheat bread.

"It's all local, yes?"

"That's all I can afford, I'm afraid," the baker said. His sideburns and the roots of his hair were tinged grey. Blue shadows painted the bags under his eyes.

Belle hand him a silver coin for the loaves. The baker brightened, then went morose. He tried to hand the silver back. "I can't accept this, miss."

"Will you take it if you tell me where you get the flour from?"

Despite his perplexity at her question, he said, "From our miller, of course. Why?"

"A friend told me there was no finer flour to be found in the land. The miller has a special technique to grind grain."

"Really?" The baker scratched one of the sideburns. "Doesn't strike me as special."

Belle shrugged. Contrary to her earlier efforts against raising her hopes, she was eager to meet Cora again. Too eager to feel guilty about lying. "I'm only saying what I heard. Maybe I can ask the miller myself."

The baker blew his lips. "Good luck with that. Never knew the old man had some fancy trick up his sleeve. He lives outside of town. Just follow the main road until you see the windmill. You can't miss it."

The road was much longer than she expected. Nor did she expect to find herself so removed from the town. The dirt highway continued through a forest. People passed by or came to town from the other direction, but Belle was mostly alone. She kept an eye open for wolves and bears and kept to the middle of the road while trying to avoid other pedestrians. Her heart pattered faster the farther she walked, nervous and elated. It was a small adventure. She prepared herself for anything to happen. Ridiculous as it was under sensible scrutiny, she entertained herself by surveying every huge tree and boulder in anticipation of a band of robbers. A snapping twig could've betrayed the presence of a wandering unicorn in her imagination.

What actually happened was more mundane and more startling.

After about half an hour, a creaking of wooden wheels crept up behind Belle. Not looking back, she stepped aside to let the person pass. Her eye arrested on a tree close to the road. It was crooked and gnarled. Belle thought it had an evil quality, then quickly scolded herself for immediately calling something ugly evil. In all honesty, though, it reminded her of illustrations of witches in one of her books. The branches reached out like arms and hands as though to snatch up unwary travelers. Her attention fixed, she ignored the person behind her until a voice called out.

"Pardon me."

The request turned Belle around. She halted and gasped. Cora stood a few feet behind her, dressed in her a plain peasant blouse and skirt and a brown wool cloak. Her hair dangled in a tangled twist over her shoulder. Her pushcart was filled with lumber instead of flour. The women regarded each other long enough to make it awkward.

Belle cleared her throat and smiled. "Morning, Cora!"

Cora slowly trundled closer with her cart. Her dark eyes squinted. "That _is_ you, isn't it? What are you doing here?"

It wasn't much of a surprise to hear consternation, and even exasperation, but Belle wished it were otherwise. She did her utmost not to take offense. "I needed some air outside the palace. And I wanted to see the village. You?"

She loaded her question with stubborn congeniality. Cora could only roll her eyes and say, "I live here."

Belle swiveled her head for a panoramic view of their surroundings. "You live in the woods?"

The other woman sidled up to her and she slanted her mouth in a saucy half-grin. "Yes, that's right. I'm a wood nymph. I just pretend to be a miller's daughter for the glamour of it."

"A wood nymph that goes to _town_ for lumber, I see." Belle nodded to the cart while trying to uphold a serious expression that poorly veiled her mirth.

"I already collected the branches around here that came down in the storm. I finished selling this week's worth of flour and picked up what other people hadn't."

"But you bought a cord, too." The branches covered a bundle of short logs that, unlike the gnarled twigs on top, were neatly chopped.

"Well, I'm not a woodcutter! Do you many wood nymphs who use axes?"

"I don't know of many wood nymphs who need to build fires, either."

Cora thudded the cart against the ground. Branches and logs jumped. She circled around the vehicle so nothing stood between her and Belle. She had the height advantage, if only by a handful of inches. Looking up gave Belle an excuse to tilt her chin in playful haughtiness.

"You're an awfully long way from the comfort of your books, witling," said Cora. "What do you want?"

Belle let her eyes momentarily glance down. "How about the benefit of the doubt?"

"Experiences have taught me it's not a good idea to give most people the benefit of the doubt."

After folding her lips into her mouth, sealing in not-yet-conceived words of protest, Belle looked down the road. "Is your house close by?"

"Eager to see how the common folk live?"

"If you insist, I'll turn around and never press the issue again. But I would like to see the mill, if I may. I'm curious if there are any design differences from the ones back home."

Still delivering a wary squint, Cora returned to the cart and picked up the handles to continue her homeward trip. Belle walked with her but kept a sidestep distance between them. She could match the pace thanks to Cora's restricted stride, which without the cart would have been long and determined and perhaps eager to outrun Belle. As they were locked in equal step, crumbs of small talk started to fall. Cora noted the bread in Belle's basket and realized she had been scavenging in nearby fields while Belle visited the baker. Belle asked if the ball dress made it back to its real owner without trouble. Cora answered vaguely in the positive while discouraging more questions. Belle pursued related topics instead, including whether Cora had attended other balls. There'd been one, Cora admitted, when she was younger, more optimistic and more naive about the world and her place in it. Back when her mother was alive and her father didn't depend so much on drink. Her tone barred Belle entirely from further prying.

They came to a bend in the highway. The woods on the left-hand side opened into a clearing populated by a small house and a small mill. The mill's sails gradually turned in the mild breeze. The house was moss-speckled and held together with dried mud, as if it were trying to blend in with the terrain. A large wagon loaded with sacks and barrels lazily lounged in front of it. A clothesline held up a row of drying socks, breeches, sheets, underwear and skirts. The dirt highway stretched on into the woodsy unknown, a mystery that would have to wait another day. The women turned into the clearing. The buildings stood quiet and apparently forsaken. Not another soul stirred in the vicinity. The closest neighbor was likely half a mile away considering the lack of houses for the last half-mile of road. No human sounds touched their ears—just the croaking windmill, the chirping birds and, somewhere Belle couldn't see, a gurgling stream.

Belle insisted on helping to carry the branches and logs to the stockpile next to the house. She expected Cora's father to pop out to meet them while they worked. He did not. He wasn't hiding or sleeping in the house, either, which Belle verified when they hauled in sacks from the wagon.

"Is your father away?" she asked Cora.

"More likely he's snoring in the mill. Or the tavern, if he managed to drag himself that far."

The sack contained different grains—wheat, rye, barley, oats—from farmers who harvested the crops and sent them to the miller for processing. Belle wondered aloud if the king ever imported foreign grains. Cora explained their arrangement with the local farmers. She and her father gave a percent of the flour back to them at a reduced price, took what they needed for themselves, and sold the rest at market and the palace. If any there was any imported grain, it probably went to millers closer to the border, or ones commissioned by the king.

"I see. You did say you aren't the only millers the king buys from." Belle followed Cora's gesturing hand to the pantry. The shelves and nooks were depressingly bare. Some root vegetables, herbs and dried meat hung from hooks. Two eggs sat in a basket, and cobwebs shadowed the corners that, by Belle's estimation, had been empty for a while. Bread was the only thing not lacking or in short supply. Her large sack settled like a baby hippo among its siblings against the wall. A cloud of dust puffed up. Belle coughed and ducked away, almost bumping into Cora.

Cora dodged past her with her burden. "Were you trying to think of how we could be more specialized?"

"It would give you a competitive edge," said Belle after finishing her coughing fit.

Cora chuckled as she set down the last sack with more ease than her helper. The bag came down softly enough that only a light dust layer leapt up and danced around their skirts. "Is that what people do where you're from? In this kingdom, all that matters is keeping the king and his family fed and clothed."

"That's no way to run a kingdom." Belle scrunched her brow as she glimpsed around her. The house, one story with only three distinct rooms, sagged in the middle. Hay covered the packed earthen floor, although that didn't stop grass from poking up in sneaky clumps. Beams and planks in various places started to show rot. The whole structure was tired and in need of repair. It could've been a comfortable dwelling, no matter how small, with proper maintenance, but maybe Cora and her father had limited handyman skills, or just limited tools. Or maybe they slaved so much to make ends meet that they simply couldn't afford the time and money. How many other people lived like this, she wondered. If it was a fundamental problem among the peasants, then King Xavier really was failing his people. Belle looked at Cora with mounting concern.

Her companion stared back with half-open eyes. Belle couldn't tell if she was simmering with quiet rage or was just weary. Her words, however, hinted at a volcanic heat Belle had seen before when she knelt before Xavier to "apologize" to Eva. "No, it isn't. But we don't have much choice, do we? Not unless we change our situation ourselves."

If an opportunity fell into her hands to make such a change, Belle didn't doubt she would take action, with or without anyone's help. As of now, though, they were equally caught with their hands tied. Belle turned the matter over in her mind, anyway, brainstorming for a possible solution or some assistance she could offer. She had no sway over Xavier's policies and no way to instantly alter the economy. If Cora's, and the kingdom's, circumstances were to improve, the process would be slow and painful. They had no magical fix-it option.

The discussion was set aside. Belle followed Cora to the mill where they poked their heads in and found her father napping on a pile of empty sacks. An empty bottle reeking of something sharp and heady lay on the floor like a ravished lover. Cora kicked her father in the legs until he stirred. He groaned and pushed his cap off his eyes.

"Father. We have a guest."

He pulled himself out of sleep and, seeing Belle, rolled to the floor and stumbled to stand. He coughed to clear his throat. "What time is it?"

"Late enough," snapped Cora. She picked up the bottle. It disappeared into her cloak. "Show some manners."

Belle pulled off her hood and introduced herself, keeping to her name and leaving out titles and homelands. Smiling, she curtsied and presented her hand for a shake. The miller gawked before taking the hand. His grip was clammy and weak, but he managed to squeeze her fingers and give an unsteady bow.

"Demetrius. You're a friend of Cora's?"

"Well, I'm visiting a . . . my uncle, but your daughter has been kind enough to give me a tour of the village."

Cora's mouth began to open until Belle sent her a sidelong stare. Her lips pressed together again for a second. "She's from another kingdom," she said to her father. "She wanted to see if our mill is any different from the ones where she lives."

Once this information passed through Demetrius' still groggy brain, his mouth bent in a smile, wrinkling his bearded cheeks. "Certainly, certainly. It would be my pleasure. Nice to know Cora has friends that want to visit." He raised his eyebrows at Cora. She coldly glowered back.

As he began naming and pointing to the crucial parts of the mill, Demetrius threw a lever that lowered a heavy winch, which in turn raised the mill's two round bedstones to meet their partner runner stones. That was all he did besides talk. Whether from sleep or drink, Demetrius' voice resembled crunching gravel, but it softened the more he spoke. His timbre and movements became animated as he elaborated on the history of the mill. It was built a few generations ago with wood and stone. The iron components were a later addition commissioned by his father, who had the parts welded by dwarves. Demetrius enjoyed talking about the mill more than working it. That became obvious when Cora, without a word, left the mill, retrieved two sacks of wheat, came back and climbed up to the elevated landing. Her father did not ask if she needed help, nor did he instinctively volunteer. He was happy to continue his lecture. Cora, with strong arms thanks to her solitary labors, poured a sack into the eye of one of the runner stones. The stone turned with the windmill, its individual nut and the wheels and shafts in between, scraping roughly against the bedstone. The grinding sent vibrations through the air and Belle's chest. They left her tingling. Seeds cascaded into the hole for pulverization, although some didn't make it and instead bounced and sprinkled on Belle and Demetrius. The miller admonished his daughter for her carelessness. Belle giggled at first, then hit on a thought.

"Have you considered setting up a funnel system?" Belle raised her voice above the noise of the stones and the gears so both of them could hear her. She described two types of chutes called hoppers and shoes that transported the seeds into the eye without spilling. Demetrius, in answer, scratched his covered head.

"I doubt it would make much difference in profit," called Cora from above. She dragged the remaining sack to the other end of the platform, to the second pair of millstones. She poured the wheat to the same effect. The dry, dusty residue from the seeds stuck to Cora's clothes, face and hair. She resembled a pastry dusted with white-yellow powder when she came down. "There's only so much the king and the locals will buy from us. Having more stored away won't earn us more coin."

"But having it means you'd have the advantage should there be another dry spell. That's why business was so poor these past few years. Or you could save the flour for yourselves."

Demetrius found the idea appealing. Cora didn't look as optimistic. She was probably concerned about cost. Belle reasoned they could work something out with the carpenter to build the parts to their needs given the appropriate measurements. When asked if they ever tried to sell in other towns, Cora expressed a more eager openness to it; Demetrius reeled and grunted objections over the time, effort and the all-too-little payoff. His remarks brought him and Cora close to arguing. Belle interceded with an offer to help Cora with any chores she still had left. Though her temper still roiled, Cora took the hint. The women left the mill, though not before Cora reminded her father to collect the flour when the millstones finished their work.

The women set to work on taking down the aired-out clothes on the line, folding them and layering them in the wide tub of a wicker basket. As Belle's experience in folding laundry was close to nonexistent, she watched how Cora handled each type of garment and tried to copy her. But Cora moved so quickly, not realizing what Belle was up to, that at last hapless noble had to ask if she'd folded a shirt correctly. Cora sighed, took the shirt, snapped it open and refolded it so the front was smooth and the sleeves were neatly tucked inside the main fold, keeping wrinkles to a minimum. She did it more slowly so Belle could memorize each step.

"I take it you have maids to do this for you," said Cora, dropping the shirt into the laundry basket.

Belle could feel her face warming up. "I'm afraid so."

Cora glared before taking down another petticoat. She shook it so sharply the cloth snapped like a whip. "Why must you act embarrassed? You're a noble, so of course you have people to do this for you. I do my own laundry because I have to, not because I enjoy it. Would _you_ do it just for fun?"

"I guess not," said Belle. Although it was the honest answer, Cora's arched tone garnered a smile from her.

"Well! A straight answer from you for once!" There was a laughing, triumphant ring in Cora's tone Belle couldn't quite understand. It seemed important to Cora to keep the lines of status deeply etched between them when Belle wanted to scrub them away. It shouldn't have mattered so much, especially when it was only they and Demetrius. No one was watching, waiting to judge them and rain down retribution for their behavior.

"I'm sorry if I came across as inscrutable." Belle raised a skeptical eyebrow. "I'm not trying to be deceiving."

"Yes, you are," said Cora. She clipped her words. "You don't realize it because you're trying to deceive yourself, too."

Belle's playful expression yielded to confusion. "How do you mean?"

"You're pretending there's no difference between us. You can't really believe it, even if you want to." Cora paused in her work to eye Belle up and down. "Just take your clothes. They're styled like a commoner's, but the fabric is almost as fine as the dress I . . . _borrowed_ last night."

This was an exaggeration, and Belle had a mind to point out that she hadn't picked out the clothes herself. Then she understood that admitting a servant had performed such a simple task would completely cut the legs from under her.

Cora started violently yanking off socks and stockings and rolling the pairs together. "You and I come from different worlds. How we see things is shaped by where we come from. You will never really understand what is it to struggle to put food in the pantry day after day, and work until your muscles are too sore to bear the weight of a single piece of straw."

Her imagination attempted to simulate what Cora described, but Belle's sheltered experience made it impossible to feel that soreness and that hunger to their full degree. She felt something else instead. An awareness of that reality budded in her—the burden of the serfs working to provide for their lords and kings as well as themselves. It came crashing in and made her shudder at the unfairness. The guilt of her privilege slapped her, stung her, and then pulled her down with its weight. She pushed back against it by grabbing a blouse and, paying attention to the creases as Cora showed her, folded it. The scratchy fabric against her hands didn't change who she was, or who Cora was, and the gulf in their circumstances. But it was something she could wrap her fingers around and feel the way Cora felt them, regardless their disparate experiences, and she could take the memory of it back home.

"You're right," she finally said. "But sometimes pretending is the only way a person can slip into another's shoes without having lived their life. I don't envy your life—it has to be hard in ways I can't even imagine. But I want to understand it. I want a better knowledge of the world outside my home and my books. I haven't deceived you about that."

Cora again stopped what she was doing. Her eyebrows dipped in a perplexed scowl rather than an irritated one. Unsure of whether to find it amusing or worrying, Belle looked away and folded a pair of long-johns, working not to wonder what Cora was thinking or where the long-johns had been. No matter her efforts, she eventually had to face Cora as she put the garment in the basket at their feet.

Her companion's voice sliced through the silence. "Why?"

Belle straightened. "Why what?"

"Why does _my_ life matter to you? I'm just another peasant. There's nothing here—" Cora waved at the clothes, the house, the mill. "—that should hold your interest, except a charity case."

Belle pursed her mouth. "This isn't about charity."

"Then what is it?"

In the pause between question and answer, a bird twittered in the trees. Its song helped Belle think calmly and clearly. So did the murmur of the stream she still couldn't see, the teasing wind that fluttered her curls and the hem of her cape and made the clothes still on the line billow. Afraid for a moment that a sheet would come loose and fly away, Belle gripped it. It was itchy like the blouse, and unlike the sheets in her bedroom or Xavier's guestrooms. Yet its itchiness made the fabric more interesting, if still uncomfortable.

Plucking up her mettle, Belle looked at Cora's pupils, hidden in irises of dark russet. "I want to be your friend."

If the birds and the wind and the stream had any comment to make on Belle's declaration, they went unheard by either woman. Belle reined in her breath so as not to miss a sound of Cora's response. As for Cora, she flinched as though her entire face was blinking, needing a second to recoil and then come back to reality. Her eyeballs glimmered with moisture, though whether they did from tears could not be determined. Her lips opened, terribly uncertain, and Belle feared more than anything that she would again say the dreaded word "why". She didn't. Maybe from shock, or maybe from an overwhelming torrent of thoughts, Cora was at a loss to utter anything. Somehow, even in her flabbergast state, she did not look away from Belle. Belle returned that unbending gaze, only blinking when necessary. She was fascinated watching Cora rankle with whatever emotions she had kept locked up in some internal dungeon until now, and still fought to control before they broke through her mask. She felt guilty for her fascination, too, and was a little sickened that her guilt did not diminish her intrigue.

When the wind picked up again and almost tossed the garments out of the basket, not to mention nearly tearing off what was still fastened to the line by tenacious clothespins, Cora finally looked away with an accidental flutter of her eyelashes. She stayed calm as she rescued flailing sheets and skirts and in quick fashion folded them into lopsided squares. She dispensed them into the basket, which she scooped up and came close to dropping from the unexpected weight. Belle lunged to grab the handle closest to her.

"I've got it," said Cora, glaring up beneath crouching eyebrows.

"We'll get inside faster if we work together," said Belle.

There was a protesting glare, then it fell away with a sigh. Belle smiled at Cora's hard-won surrender and how it softened her features. Cora withheld any smiles of her own for a while. They hurried indoors away from the wind and the clouds shadowing the sky. As Cora showed Belle where to put which items where, drops of water started pattering the roof with encroaching loudness. Belle groaned imagining her return journey.

"You're welcome to stay until it stops, if you can bear it," Cora said with her back turned as she opened up fresh sheets to lay on her bed.

"As long as you can bear my company." Belle grinned knowingly and joined Cora on the opposite side of the bed, keen to take instruction on how to tuck in the sheets.

The rain continued and intensified throughout the afternoon and evening. Belle feared becoming a real imposition on the pair and volunteered to help at every task. "Keep this up and I'll have you cleaning the whole house," said Cora when Belle offered to sweep the bedrooms, after having already assisted with making beds and scrubbed the pots in preparation for supper.

"It's no trouble." Belle did what she could to ignore her sore, reddening palms as she accepted the broom. Like with the laundry, she had little idea of what she ought to do, although sense suggested she push stray straw along the edges of the floor. When Cora inspected her handiwork, she quirked a disbelieving grin and explained that the rest of the floor looked fine, but she needed to gather the straw in one or two piles pick up and toss out to leave the floor properly swept. Aching hands and a vague feeling of inadequacy aside, the chore helped Belle feel she wasn't making their lives any more difficult. Her hopes of the rain relenting crumbled when Demetrius jogged in through the door sopping wet, and she could see huge raindrops splashing against the muddying ground outside. Her delicate cloak wouldn't stand a chance against that.

"Good for the crops, though!" said Demetrius with a chuckle, and shook off the water like a dog. Cora ground her teeth and threw a towel at him.

"I'm so sorry," Belle said, still clutching the broom. "I didn't mean to be a nuisance by intruding on your hospitality like this."

"It's nothing. We'll make do tonight. And we're only too happy to entertain a friend of Cora's." There again was that sharp, unkind edge. Cora, rather than answer him with her usual bridled hostility, coolly shrugged and returned to the stew in the cauldron she and Belle had cleaned.

Supper was a quiet affair, and not as uncomfortable as Belle anticipated. Demetrius, for whatever reason, did not ask questions about where she was from, although he did ask if she had a fair journey here and express his hopes that her uncle would not be disturbed by her absence. Belle was sure Demetrius was not a very bright or knowledgeable man, but he was not a complete fool, either. He used just enough emphasis in certain phrases that made her hand pause while raising her soup spoon to her mouth, yet not so much to warrant a more excited response than brief, generic confirmation or clarification. Cora refused to meet her father's eye. In fact, she appeared be to block out his existence. She gladly looked at Belle while passing her bread and a large wedge of cheese that had somehow escaped both Belle and Demetrius' earlier notice. It evoked Belle's confusion and Demetrius' surprise and unquestioning delight. Only after she started eating did Belle make the connection between the appearance of the cheese and the silver coins she gave Cora for the flour yesterday. Her pleasure at the result of her action carried the taint of embarrassment from its blatant presentation.

By the time the women cleaned the dishes at the pump and basin and wiped down the table, night blanketed the rain-drenched woods. Belle prepared to either leave or negotiate arrangements to stay the night. Demetrius still forbade the thought of her walking home without proper gear. A lady should not travel alone at night, either. That settled the issue. He spoke with more sobriety, and it did well to persuade Belle to yield to his argument. Even Cora started to insist, though more mutely.

Belle thanked them and skipped the awkward question of whether they had an extra bed. She'd spent enough time tending to some of Cora's chores to grasp a layout of the house. The only other room besides the bedrooms, both sparsely furnished with a bed and a wardrobe, was the shared space that served as kitchen, parlor and tool shed. All she needed were some blankets to cocoon herself in beside the hearth. With a tiny hill of hay underneath and a gentle fire, she would be comfortable enough for one night.

Demetrius was indignant at the notion. He turned his budding anxiety on Cora. "Don't let her do this. You can give up your bed for one night!"

"Of course I can." Some of Cora's anger returned, but she kept it at a low simmer. To Belle she wielded a kinder tone, though no less frank. "You'll regret it in the morning if you sleep on the floor. It'll be especially cold tonight because of the storm. My bed is at your disposal."

"I don't need it. Really." Belle smiled appreciatively. "You're a gracious host, but I won't let you endure what you're trying to spare me from."

Demetrius started to speak. Cora silenced him with a raised hand. "I didn't say I would. We're two grown women, and my bed is big enough for two. There's no reason it should be a problem . . . unless you're uncomfortable sharing a bed with someone."

A suspicion niggled Belle's brain. Was this a test? Cora looked and sounded as grave as a cleric. There was only the smallest impish twinkle in her gaze that gave cause for worry. After some thought, Belle navigated through the argument and agreed that there was nothing altogether inappropriate or impossible about the arrangement. If even it was a test, she was ready to accept Cora's clandestine challenge. Demetrius, ruffled at first by the suggestion, permitted it once Belle complied without complaint or condition.

Cora offered her first call on the bedroom for changing, and a nightgown for the occasion. It was made of hemp, and while it didn't chafe as much as Belle expected, she kept her linen chemise on underneath for warmth as well as comfort. As she pulled on the nightgown - more like a long tunic - she heard a murmur of arguing voices beyond the closed door. They were soft enough that Belle had to creep to the door and put her ear to it to make out anything. Eventually the words became discernible. There was no trouble identifying who was speaking.

"You really do think I'm some dolt," growled Demetrius. "Just tell me, for the gods' sake. I'm not going to blab to anyone!"

"Oh, yes, you will, once you've have a few pints in you," Cora growled back. "Besides, she's no one important, all right? Nothing's going to change after tonight."

"She must want something. You can tell me that!"

"She's just a nosy girl who reads too much. That's it."

Demetrius huffed. A creak suggested he was now sitting. "So she's a noble with a peculiar interest in the poor? She's not even offering alms?"

"Is that what you want? To be a beggar at someone's doorstep, waiting around for people to shower pity on you? If she did that, I'd throw her out in a heartbeat."

"Dammit, child, you've no sense at all! Milk her for what she's worth! She's so sweet and soft-hearted she won't object. It'll make her feel good, I bet!"

Cora gave her answer in a low hiss that was hard to understand. "It's bad enough being the daughter of a poor drunkard. I won't crawl on my knees to satisfy some rich, sanctimonious idiot. She'll sleep here tonight, go home tomorrow, and that's the end of it!"

"You're the one who constantly complains about our situation. What good is your pride if it means making our lives better?"

Demetrius received no retort. Deep, uneasy silence prevailed. It was a full minute before footfalls padded around the room and Cora said, "Next thing I know, you'll have me whoring myself out to the whole town. I'll pay a price to get out of this life, but not that. Good night."

Demetrius whined a groan, the signal of a pending apology. "Cora - "

"_Good night_."

Belle gasped and bounded to the bed. She came close to falling off the opposite side as she rolled over it. With shaky hands she picked up the candle on the floor and blew it out. Her breathing took a while to bring down to a more normal pace while she waited under the covers for Cora or sleep to come. Cora arrived first. Belle lay with her back to the door and stilled herself to disguise her alert state.

Cora quietly shut the door. Darkness overtook the room. The one window was covered with a fastened canvas sheet for the rain to batter against. Cora's words reached Belle through the gloom like a poking finger. "You're not asleep."

After a few pained seconds, Belle turned her head. "I'm almost asleep."

She couldn't see anything, although her eyes began adjusting to the dark, but she was sure Cora had rolled her eyes. Belle turned over again despite that it made no difference which way she faced while Cora changed her clothes. She cringed at her hasty extinguishing of the candle without consideration for her host and bedmate. Before she worked up the nerve to ask where the matches were, or even apologize, a body protected by a burlap tunic slipped under the blankets, warming the space between the covers and the straw mattress. Some stalks poked Belle's backside through the casing. She dared not complain.

"Do you think I'm a sanctimonious idiot?" Belle said quietly.

The sigh she received made her wish she'd not brought it up. She couldn't help what Cora thought of her however she behaved. But Belle understood she came from a world populated by people Cora had no reason to think well of, and there was only so much she could say or do to debunk every unkind opinion. She even wondered if there were things she'd done to confirm Cora's beliefs - had she unintentionally insulted her? Made her feel like a charity case? How could she make it clear this was not what motivated her to come here?

"Which part upsets you more?" Cora asked.

Despite her anxiety, Belle chuckled. "You mean being an idiot or being sanctimonious? I guess I'd rather be the first than the second."

"That's quite a statement coming from you."

Belle beamed at that more than she should. It meant Cora understood how highly she valued intelligence and knowledge. "And that's quite the compliment."

"It's the truth, isn't it?" The blankets and mattress shifted as Cora adjusted herself. Her voice sounded closer when she spoke, which meant she'd moved to face Belle a little more. "Do you ever think sometimes it's easier to be a blissful fool? You said you wanted to understand my life - I guess you're the sort of person who has to understand _everything_. But truth is ugly more than it is pleasant. That's why the royals don't visit the village. If they stay in their castle, they can pretend nothing is wrong with us. Or them."

Belle turned over to face Cora. She could just trace the outline of her hair and face. What little light peeked under the door created a silhouette of her body, most of it hidden by the blankets. Belle liked how Cora's long hair snaked down her neck and across her chest to coil on the mattress. It could've served as a soft scarf. "Maybe it's because I'm cooped up so much of the time that I want more than anything to see the world. I see what you mean, though. But the worst thing isn't the unpleasantness. It's that I feel helpless about it. There's nothing I can do to change it on my own. And let's face it, when men are in power, they don't like to listen to women's opinions. They think we're irrational, or haven't the intelligence to make important decisions. Where I'm from, there's not much women can do to prove their talents and their strength. I had to _beg_ my father to let me come here and actually do something to help our people. He's a good man, really, but he restricts me when he thinks he's protecting me."

"At least your father is interested in your welfare." Cora's fingers curled against the pillow, her nails scraping against the coarse woven fabric. "Since my mother died, my father can only drown himself in alcohol. I have to do everything at this point. And when he is clear-headed, he still relies on me to keep us from starving. He uses his misery about losing my mother and being a piss-poor miller as an excuse to hide away from his problems. If a man really cares for his family, he'd pull himself out of his self-pity to do what he could for them, right?"

Her voice was low and deep as usual. The more she spoke, however, the more it started to shake with anger and sadness. Belle bit her lip and searched in the dark for her friend's clenched hand. She found it, held it and rubbed her thumb along the back of Cora's fingers. Cora shut her eyes and sniffed. The sigh that followed seemed deeper and greater than her individual troubles. Belle heard the moan of every unhappy soul trapped in a situation the could not change or escape. She could imagine Demetrius sighing to himself like that in the other bedroom, alone and unable to tell his daughter why he couldn't meet her expectations. It wasn't fair that existence could be such a cold, tiring thing. If there was one thing Belle felt her books sometimes misled her about, it was happy endings. Sure, heroes had to face challenges and hardship before they reached them, but at least they found that their struggles had been worth it. What about people like Cora and Demetrius? What happy ending were they to expect? Was happily ever after restricted to the lucky few? Did it even really exist?

She suddenly remembered a quotation from a book of philosophy that had resonated with her the first, second, and fifteenth time she read it: _The only thing necessary for the triumph of evil is for good men to do nothing._ Another followed: _Nobody made a greater mistake than he who did nothing because he could do only a little._ The words returned to Belle and sent a flash of resolve through her being. She lightly squeezed Cora's hand. "If you want me to, I'll do anything I can to help you change your circumstances. I don't know how much I can do, but I'm more than willing, be it great or small."

Cora looked up from under half-open lids. "What can you do? Talk sense into the king? Or find that wizard and get him to change things? You might as well try to make straw into gold."

"I don't think I have to do anything that extreme," said Belle, smiling. An idea came to her. She propped on her elbows and leaned in toward Cora. "What if you came to live with me? I mean, work as a servant at my father's castle. Or I could help you find an occupation in the village."

Cora's harsh snicker dimmed her enthusiasm. "Oh, yes, that sounds like a wonderful choice - be a miller's daughter or a servant."

"Trust me, the servants live much better than you do now. Yes, they do have menial work, but they never have to worry about food and domestic comforts. But you could find work in the village instead. Have you any other skills besides milling?"

"Not much else beyond sewing and cooking, and I'm not terribly good at those things, either."

"What about being a chambermaid for hire? Or . . . oh, I don't know! What do you _like_?"

"Like?" From the way Cora repeated the word, it was at once the most preposterous and most heartening question anyone had ever asked her. She was stumped for a short while. When she rolled onto her back to think, her hair pulled away from her throat and revealed some of her chest above the tunic's scooping neckline. Her eyes now accustomed to the dark, Belle spotted a glimmer of gold there and managed to stop from gasping. It was her necklace. The pearl pendant hung down toward Cora's right shoulder like a dew dropping trying to roll down her skin. The contrast between the slinky gold chain and the coarse clothes was mesmerizing. It paralleled Cora's natural beauty and the unkempt way she wore her hair - except when she appeared at the ball. Then not a stitch of the outward peasant could be detected. In appearance she had meshed well with the other revelers. Some coarseness had remained, though, and in all truth Belle was grateful for that. Too much refinement made people milk-blooded and eager to foist the uglier responsibilities of keeping a kingdom in order on others.

Cora widened her eyes and gave her answer. "I like flowers. We have a nice little garden with herbs and a few vegetables. But if I wanted to take care of plants as my livelihood, I'd prefer flowers. Even uncultured flowers are beautiful, if not as much as what grow in hothouses. Are there people who grow and sell flowers in your village?"

"Sure!" Belle lay back down, still wound up in excitement. "We also have a gardener at the castle who is getting up in years. He'd probably appreciate the help."

"You're really determined to have me working at your home."

"Well, it means I would see you more often." Belle's smile brightened, then dropped a little. "What about your father? Would he be willing to leave the mill and start over?"

"If having a new and better life means leaving all this behind, I won't let him or anyone stop me. He can do as he likes."

"But . . . won't he be upset if you go?"

"It doesn't matter. I don't owe him anything."

Her surety in this had Belle shuddering. She respected Cora's resolve, but to be on such bad terms with one's family so as to make leaving them an easy choice disturbed her. Anger rather than disinterest might have been the source of her cutting declaration.

Belle conceded to Cora's decision. She then relaxed into the mattress while training adept eyes on her companion. She brought her hand near Cora's once more but did not yet touch it. "I'm sorry about your mother. I lost mine, too."

Cora took a breath that came close to a gasp, only slower and more controlled. She was trying to hide her surprise at this coincidence. No success there. "I see. Sorry to hear that."

"Do you . . . want to talk about it?" Belle nipped her lip a second time.

"If I did, we'd be up all night. Maybe some other time."

That sounded like a 'no', but not a definitive 'no'. "I'll hold you to that." Belle put in a soft, short laugh as assurance that she was being half-serious. She agreed that they should get to sleep. "But before we do, I just want to say I'm glad you still have the necklace."

Cora touched the pendant. She gripped it between two fingers as if it were a pea she might squish if she wasn't careful. "Why? You want it back?"

Belle took the chance to press her hand on Cora's fingers. "You better hold on to it. It looks very well on you."

Although they were both keeping warm in bed, her fingers felt cool. Even icy. Poor circulation? That didn't appear to fit a young woman who was so active. Belle had an urge to keep her grasp on them until they heated up. It had been a long while since she last had physical contact like this with someone besides her father. She liked holding his hands when he needed comforting. It was how her mother would calm her whenever she got upset as a child. From instinct and memories, Belle took Cora's hand in both of hers and rubbed it under her skin flushed with warmth. The need to explain never crossed her mind - the quick brushing action up and down on the back of Cora's hand, from her wrist to fingertips, seemed to say enough. When her work was done, Belle looked at Cora's slightly bemused expression, wished her a friendly goodnight, let her hand free and rolled away with her back to her again. She didn't realize the neckline of her own nightgown had been pulled down her shoulder until, after a few undisturbed minutes, Cora pulled it back up and covered Belle's goosepimpled flesh. Belle thanked her and, still feeling a happy flutter in her stomach, soon fell into sleep.


End file.
